


Nice.

by humansandotherpeople



Series: Gem and Sherlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM elements, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Rule 63, bickerflirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humansandotherpeople/pseuds/humansandotherpeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gem gets more out of her visit at Baker Street than she'd expected. Namely, sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice.

Gem Moriarty was _angry._ Positively livid. Also itching to make someone uncomfortable, miserable or dead. Usually her work covered those needs nicely, but this was not usual, nothing like this had happened since well before her thirtieth birthday. It was an outrage.

Gem Moriarty was out of work. Throughout the last few months requests for help had trickled in with ever lower frequency, she had had the last job finished three days ago, and she'd taken her time with that one, and there had been no new clients since then, nada, nothing. Perhaps the worst part wasn't that she had nothing to do – no, scratch that, that was definitely the worst part. But another bad part was that she could still see the people who would have come to her in different circumstances. They were out there, blundering about, getting caught, and all she wanted to do was scream at them that she knew how to do it better. (And then there were those that didn't blunder as much as they should, and didn't get caught, and often evaded her own notice for days on end. She had mixed feelings about those.) Well, that would get her nowhere these days, thanks to Sherlock Holmes. Or, thanks to herself, who had let Sherlock Holmes live and continued to let her live, who had encouraged her to do this to her, who had pedalled back to make the game easier for her and let her win.

Because seriously, Sherlock, genius or not, couldn't have made it this far without some help from her. The outcast against the billionaire, who would you place your bets on? Plus, Gem was still reasonably sure she was the cleverer one out of the two of them. All of that just made it all the worse that she was proud of Sherlock anyway, admired her handiwork, found nothing but beauty in the way she turned her own moves against her...

It was Sherlock's own fault, all in all, that Gem's attention once more fully turned to _her,_ now that she had deprived her of any other stimulation that was worth it. And they hadn't seen each other face to face at all since they had parted on the roof of St. Bart's, and wasn't that a shame? There had been surveillance feeds and texting and Gem had indulged and written her postcards, signed with lipsticky kisses, from everywhere remotely exotic her work brought her, but really, you wouldn't even be able to tell that this was _personal_ if you looked at it from the outside...

Time for a visit to Baker Street.

 

Gem considered knocking this time, but fuck it, this was enough of an admission of defeat already, so she broke in again. Not out of nostalgia at all, she told herself. And felt a bit stumped anyway when no violin accompanied her up the stairs. She made no effort to avoid the creaking stair, announcing herself loudly, because if Sherlock hadn't expected her, then let her flail and build up a pretense she _had_ expected her in the seconds before she entered her flat.

It came as a surprise to Gem that she didn't spot Sherlock immediately. Had she tricked the surveillance and gone out...? But no, there she was, on the couch, curled in on herself in a blue silky dressing gown and pyjama bottoms, facing away from the door. Gem found herself treading more lightly as she approached Sherlock, as if she was concerned she could wake her up. She wasn't, especially considering that Sherlock was far more likely to be ignoring her than actually asleep.

"Go away, Joan, I'm thinking", Sherlock moaned when Gem was in touching distance.

Talk about adding insult to injury. What was the most efficient way to demonstrate that she wasn't the pet? A knife to the throat? (The same pocketknife, by the way, that she had carried when she visited here after she used her Out Of Jail Free card, okay, maybe some nostalgia did come into play in all this.) But then, seeing that the pet actually had to live with Sherlock, she probably wanted to knife her on a regular basis. Walk her fingers from her hip down the dip of her waist? Better. Or was that just her desire to touch her talking? A compromise was in order.

So she gently brushed some of Sherlock's gorgeous black curls away from her ear and breathed directly into it in her sweetest Gem-from-IT voice: "Oh, did I disturb you, sweetheart? I'm _so_ sorry. Sorry! I'll leave now."

First she froze and held her breath, then she sat up so fast, Gem could barely get out of the way quickly enough. Now _that_ was attention.

_Nice._

And the dressing gown was tied with a sash around the waist, which did more for her figure than her usual men's shirts ever could. Not that she didn't somehow manage to look stunning in those. But still. And the bathrobe allowed for a good view of her collarbones, as well.

 _Very_ nice.

Sherlock fixated her in turn with a long, turquoise, expressionless gaze. Then she cracked a smile. "My, if it isn't Ricarda Brook. May I ask for an autograph?"

Gem didn't even flinch. "If you wanted me to hit you, you'd have to ask for it more specifically, I'm afraid. If I went violent every time I see red -"

"You wouldn't have any clients left?", Sherlock interrupted, an eyebrow raised, and invitingly patted the spot directly to her right on the sofa. Gem let herself fall there immediately, their thighs touching, an arm around Sherlock's narrow shoulders, too close and too possessive for comfort. Unless Sherlock were to relax into it. And she knew she wouldn't.

"Really. I never thought I'd ever hear anyone more desperately provocative than me", deliberating, detached, dry, "Sherly, you're so lucky I'm a narcissist or I'd be creeped out by how much you're turning into me."

Sherlock indeed tensed up more than she relaxed into the touch, but she gave the hand resting on her upper arm a short look and then covered it with her own right hand, holding it in place and stroking her wrist ever so lightly with her index finger. It very nearly made Gem shiver.

And then the stroking didn't stop when Sherlock started speaking with that smoky voice of hers again. "Actually, I keep expecting a... hit from you, perhaps a somewhat less literal one. I believe I have been hitting you where it hurts."

Gem nodded, as much to show her appreciation of this particular metaphor as to agree. "Hit me, baby, one more time", she murmured absent-mindedly and regretted it instantly. That was one joke that wasn't worth having that song stuck in her head for. And Sherlock didn't react, had probably never even heard the song, the lucky bitch.

"I thought you would... reciprocate." The stroking stopped.

And Sherlock was a fine one to talk about reciprocating. Gem didn't say that, of course. Instead, she snuggled closer to her enemy, settled her head on her shoulder, and put on a general air of "Why yes, I'm enjoying myself, thank you very much." Sherlock didn't give. "I don't have to, don't you realize?" Gem purred. "I did to you a long time ago what you're doing to me now. The exact same thing. How many clients did you get lately? To do _your_ job for, mind, not mine, that's a different matter."

Gem could see Sherlock's features slip into a frown. "Six."

"Okay, if you want to interpret "lately" as "this month"... All terribly serious issues, were they?"

"No. Fans... from before, with excuses to get through to me. As you well know. You _also_ know my reputation will be as good as new in a few months' time, since there is no hard evidence against me, Miss Brook isn't available for questioning and Mr. Reilly has a record of embellishing the truth." Sherlock didn't shift much, just leaned into her and back into her arm a tiny bit, but it was enough to turn their touching into something mutual, something you could call cuddling if you were inclined to, rather than an act of aggression. Gem considered putting an end to it now that it wasn't serving its purpose any longer, but then Sherlock started stroking her hand again, this time with her whole, warm, palm, and it had become too _nice_ to quit now. Damn.

"Yes dear, but tell me, how's the trust situation among your closer associates?"

"Joan still believes in me. Lestrade and Mr. Hudson try to", Sherlock answered readily. The conversation began to mirror their physical exchange; Gem initiating and Sherlock playing along, occasionally adding a little something of her own.

"And how much do you deserve that trust?"

"Not at all." Oh, was that her voice breaking? Gem turned her head, nestling her chin into her shoulder, so she could watch her face. She had her eyes closed, her lips pressed tightly together – she looked quite the martyr.

"Because – and _now_ we're getting to this – how many of my clients have you helped out in order to convince them I was a fake and you were pulling the strings all along?"

"Thirty-nine."

"There we have it. Said you were turning into me. I've corrupted you, I win, you're on the dark side now. Every villain's wet dream."

"And here I thought your wet dreams of me were of a different nature." A hint of a smirk on her lips. An eye cracking open, sparkling.

"I'll have you know, they aren't mutually exclusive. And s _ome_ one here's getting over her bad conscience fast. Which further proves my point, by the way. _That's_ my girl." She pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's shoulder that Sherlock, predictably, ignored.

"You aren't here to gloat, though. You were angry at me, initially."

"Oh, believe me, I'm still fucking angry. You put me out of work. Remember what that felt like?" She couldn't help some of her actual anger slipping into her otherwise still exaggeratedly calm voice. Ah well.

"You're never content, are you?" There were traces of actual concern in the playful remark, and in her eyes, too, while she looked down at Gem for the first time since she had sat down next to her.

"If you want to see me content, darling, you're going to have to make me come", Gem snarled.

Sherlock took her time with her response, this time, just kept looking at her. Come on, after all the teasing she wasn't going to take offense at _this_ of all things, was she?

"You mean it", Sherlock finally said with an undertone of disbelief.

"Yes, I get a bit of an afterglow before my brain goes back to business as usual." She had never intended to discuss her orgasms with Sherlock, but she had to admit, she had brought this one on herself.

"No, I didn't..." Sherlock, uncharacteristically lost for words, gesticulated as if she could pluck the right phrasing out of thin air. She'd let go of Gem's hand for that, and she was putting as much space between them as the arm around her shoulders would allow. "No. It's just, I have to constantly remind myself how important sex is to other people. But I forgot to acknowledge that you are, in fact, another person."

"It's _not_ that important to me." She let go of Sherlock and moved away from her a bit. Too defensive, not her style at all, but she didn't feel she had much of a choice.

"But the only thing that will make you content." Sherlock, on the other hand, looked and sounded perfectly self-righteous. Even after becoming knowingly complicit in several major crimes, she still got that I Can't Be Wrong And I Can't Do Wrong expression. Gem was strangely grateful for that; it did suit her well.

"Hyperbole. Some drugs work as well." She didn't really have any hopes that she would succeed in leading the conversation away from this topic.

And she didn't.

"Gemma", Sherlock said, and when she looked back up at her, she closed the distance and kissed her. This was unlike the kiss on the roof, when she had barely left Gem time to react, it was enduring and fast developing into a snog. It was quite unlike kisses from other people, as well. Sherlock wasn't greedy, she wasn't nervous, and she wasn't out to get anything from her; it felt more as if she had a hypothesis that Gem would open her lips if she opened hers first, another that she could make her shiver if she ran her hand up into her hair from the back of her neck while she licked at her lips, one that she would have to suppress a whimper if she pulled at her lower lip, doubtlessly one on how she tasted, all wrapped up in a big one that she could get her thoroughly aroused in less than a minute, and she was proving them, one after another, and happy with her findings.

She looked extremely pleased with herself when she ended the kiss.

"Sherlock", Gem said, swallowing, when Sherlock loosened her tie and popped open the topmost button on her blouse, slipping a hand under her collar, "I made... a joke, I do it all the time, you don't have to jump me."

Sherlock's hand froze. "Funny how sexual advances make _you_ uncomfortable. Now shut up, I'm trying to give you something here. If you don't want it, fine. But I think you do."

"You don't want me to shut up. You love my voice."

"Very well, then. Keep talking", Sherlock chuckled, taking this reaction as an invitation to go on unbuttoning Gem's blouse with one hand while the other found Gem's bra strap, slipped under it, moved down along it.

Gem leaned back into the cushions, grateful for the additional stability. "No offense, but you were never interested in sex, why the sudden change of heart? Not fishing for compliments, just..."

"No offense, but you're not a very diligent stalker if you think I'm not _interested_ in sex. The great motivator... But of course I never personally understood the appeal. Still don't." Sherlock unbuttoned Gem's suit jacket in order to get to the rest of her shirt buttons.

"Your actions would seem to contradict your words, my dear", Gem said, shrugging out of the suit jacket compliantly.

"Not at all." Sherlock made sure she had the last word, for now at least, with another kiss that left Gem breathless and her smug.

"Let's say I certainly don't see the same appeal you do", Sherlock said as soon as Gem opened her mouth to continue asking questions.

"But", Gem stated dryly, "Your body does" She stared pointedly at Sherlock's nipples that were clearly visible through the fabric of her dressing gown and clearly very hard. Then it came to her that Sherlock's hands, splayed out on the naked skin of her torso, _had_ to mean they were past the "look, don't touch" stage and she reached out to feel _how_ hard exactly.

Sherlock caught her hand at the wrist before it even came near her breast. Gem pouted. "Do you want me to say please first?"

"You can beg all you want. This is going to be strictly one-way today."

"Permission to beg? You're _so_ much fun", Gem said with as much boredom in her voice as she could muster in the face of Sherlock using _that_ tone and forcing her arm back against her valiant efforts. She licked her lips and raised her other hand lazily, just vaguely in Sherlock's direction, but Sherlock got the hint and moments later she held both Gem's hands in place above her head. Gem shrugged mentally; so what if she didn't get to touch Sherlock now, this was not a bad alternative option.

"So. We've established that you like being held down and some amounts of pain. I assume that is a sexual thing as well?", Sherlock stated, gathering her wrists in one hand – still not a hold she could easily escape from – so she had the other one free to pull Gem's head to the side by the hair.

" _God,_ yes, it's a sex thing", Gem moaned as Sherlock bit the base of her neck, hard.

It seemed like a very long time before she let go, kissed the mark she had undoubtedly left, and said: "If we take this to my bedroom, I can tie you to the headboard", and, drawing back to look down at her again, as an afterthought: "unless the mess offends you more than a shag on the couch."

Gem breathed in, found her balance, thought up a reply. "I've been in your room, and honestly, the mess outside is mostly worse than the mess inside. I've seen your room in a state that could tentatively be called tidy, even. But your headboard's solid."

"Good to know that I still know my own bed better than you after all. You'll see. This way. As you well know, stalker girl", Sherlock said. She let go of her hair to make a sweeping gesture in the direction of her bedroom, but showed no intention of freeing her hands, just held them in front of her rather than above.

"Don't call me tacky, yet accurate, nicknames, _virgin_ , you can't pull it off", Gem said as Sherlock led her along. She felt reminded of being arrested for her big triple heist. But this wasn't planned, at least not by her, and if Sherlock had so much as thought about it beforehand, she was playing her acting out of the moment very well.

Gem stopped speculating when she was turned around and pushed onto Sherlock's unmade bed. The mixture of being manhandled, Sherlock's smell surrounding her and Sherlock herself kneeling above her, holding down her arms and cupping her left breast through her bra overwhelmed her. Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed enviably composed. No, of _course_ she was less affected. Maybe not so enviable after all.

As much to distract herself from that somewhat sobering train of thought as to actually get them somewhere, Gem reminded Sherlock: "Weren't you undressing me? I mean, I'd do it myself, but I have a predicament here." She clenched her fists for demonstration.

"Right. This could be hard once you're tied up", Sherlock admitted while she untucked Gem's open blouse, then she took off her tie. She took care never to free her wrists completely while she tugged the sleeves off her arms.

She made quick work of her bra, too, once she had rolled onto her side so she could reach the clasp.

"Satisfied? Hush, no, don't say "not yet"", Sherlock said, tugging harshly on her nipple, making her hiss. Embarassingly, that hadn't even crossed Gem's mind, more something along the lines of "I wish you actually wanted to see me naked" and then, at the sharp pain, "oh well, can't have everything", but she wasn't going to say either.

Sherlock apparently took her lack of a comeback as an invitation to say things out loud that went through her head. "You're not so witty in this state. I'm probably supposed to take that as a plus, but, and I'll tell you a dark secret about me now that you're at complete leisure to use against me -", she leaned down to whisper into her ear, "I like you the way you are." She then proceeded to use her bite marks from earlier as a starting point for a trail of bites down her chest, making her head swim.

"One day you're going to learn", she said, and noted with alarm how shaky it sounded from her unsteady breathing, "how to make a shallow compliment without attaching two insults. It will be a big loss for the world in general and for me personally."

Sherlock smiled up at her. "I'll try and never apply that skill when I get it."

Gem wondered if she could say "thank you" and "don't stop". Sherlock was talking again before she got there quite all the way. "Something completely different, I'm certain I still have the handcuffs I nicked from Lestrade that one time lying around somewhere, but I can't leave the most dangerous criminal in Britain unattended, can I?"

"That's not completely different, that's a case in point", Gem pointed out. Then she saw what Sherlock had in mind as an alternative to the handcuffs, and all she could get out was an "oh".

Sherlock was pulling the sash around her middle free of its belt loops, not teasingly, but businesslike. Before she could really savour the view of the pale strip of skin (and her belly button, and her love trail vanishing into her pyjama bottoms, _fuck_ ) that showed when the dressing gown fell open, Sherlock was upon her, tying her wrists together and to the headboard that really didn't go all the way down; there was a small gap above the bedframe that was usually covered by the pillows. She reminded herself that Sherlock liked winning, and it wasn't winning if there wasn't a struggle, so she put up a fight. She didn't even have to let her win intentionally: Sherlock always had an advantage over her physically and now more than ever; there wasn't a chance she could get free.

Nevertheless Gem kept pulling on the ties, even when she was quite certain that the knots were secure. She even made a half-hearted attempt at kicking Sherlock's shin, but she was at a bad angle and Sherlock moved out of the way before she could hit her at all. And then – Gem hadn't seen that coming – Sherlock slapped her and growled: "Lie. Still."

Gem gasped. Her hips bucked involuntarily. Then she did her best to follow the order. She licked her lips. Her cheek still burned.

"Ouch", she said appreciatively.

"Good." Sherlock nodded briefly. The first thing she did was take off her shoes and socks (that she had completely forgotten that she was still wearing) and drop them off the bed, then she settled back into her old position, kneeling next to Gem. She hadn't bothered pulling her dressing gown around herself. And her hands were back on Gem's torso. Stroking was too strong (or too weak) a word for what she was doing, really. Gem imagined she was tracing her ribs and strings of muscles and outlines of organs, naming everything correctly in her mind before she moved on. And she was taking her time, but there was no question _where_ she was moving. When she finally, _finally_ , unbuckled Gem's belt, Gem noticed she had been holding her breath and biting down on her lower lip. She let both go with a a shaky, slightly irritated sigh. It wasn't news that Sherlock being violent turned her on to no end, but her playing _nice? Really?_

Sherlock didn't make a fuss pulling down her trousers and underpants at the same time. What did she bother with lace for anyway? But then, Sherlock got her feet free of the trouser legs and she lay naked in front of Sherlock Holmes, who was fully clothed (well, close enough) and whose gaze was still analytical and she couldn't _not_ spread her legs, really.

Sherlock smirked and the analytical turned into a spark of cruelty. She dropped the trousers carelessly, but held on to the belt. Gem experienced the closest thing to fear she ever felt: the knowledge that all her roles, Ricarda and the girl from IT and the Business Contact and the cabby and even the professor (some of them were masochists alright, but they all had a sense of self-preservation) would be so scared right now, they'd curl up in a ball, they'd beg, they'd panic, they'd cry – herself? Not afraid. Just aroused.

Sherlock sat on her heels between Gem's knees. She wound the belt around her hand a few times so only a short length of leather remained. Which she proceeded to let fall on Gem's upper thigh. Not exactly gently, but she had expected a lot more from that look.

"Oh, come onnn, honey, don't hold back, you know you want to", Gem said, actually surprised her voice was still working as well as it did. "Should I turn around? It's hardly fair if I'm the only one who gets her needs -" a gasp interrupted her sentence when Sherlock brought down her still shortened belt on her other thigh, much harder now. "See? Like that."

Sherlock was scrutinizing her again, deciding, she hoped, where to place the next blow, but then she said, shaking her head slightly: "Oh no. I can't give you everything right away."

"Who says?", Gem countered. She felt a twinge of loss when Sherlock dropped the belt. But then she was over her, supporting herself with her arms on both sides of her and kissing her hard and the fabric of Sherlock's dressing gown felt _amazing_ on her naked skin and "not everything" obviously didn't mean "not any more".

The kiss kept going on and being mostly just _nice._ Gem kissed back enthusiastically. She was obviously allowed to do that. Then she bit Sherlock's lower lip, to see if she was allowed to do that, too, and just maybe to ask for only a small punishment. Sherlock broke the kiss and shifted her weight away from her right side. Gem held her breath in anticipation. She let it out in a surprised little squeak when Sherlock reached down and slid a finger between her wet labia and upward, immediately starting to stroke her clit, almost too fast. Gem arched into the touch, even when at least half her instincts told her to squirm away from it.

"I said. Just now. Didn't you hear?", Sherlock responded to something Gem now struggled to remember the context of.

"It gets hard to follow your every word, oh mistress, when you keep doing that." Gem panted her way through the sentence while Sherlock settled on her side, lying across her leg, all the while barely slowing down.

"You called me mistress." She pressed up against her to whisper into her ear. That involved boobs.

"Sar- fuck, sarcastically."

"Like you do with the _darling_ and the _sweetheart?_ Yes, I know, you don't mean those at all either."

"Yes, Sherlock, very clever"

"You know I am. That's why you love me."

"Yes!" Gem's legs were shaking and she thought she was going to come right then, and what would that have said about her? And what would Sherlock have thought it did? She was almost more relieved than disappointed when Sherlock's hand stopped moving just a moment too soon. When she picked up the stroking again, it was at a much slower, sometimes erratic pace. Gem got used to it, moved with it, felt heat building in the pit of her stomach... She debated internally how she could ask Sherlock to pick up some _speed_ again, when she halted entirely again. This time Gem definitely felt disappointed, if not to call it bereft. And she only got more desperate when the scene repeated itself. Who would have thought that Sherlock would be such a tease?

 _Oh._ But she wasn't, was she? Gem half grinned, half grimaced. And here she'd assumed Sherlock didn't want it done with as soon as possible after all. "Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock", she said, nearly sighed. "You don't even masturbate. Do you."

"I've... tried, and orgasms are somewhat enjoyable, but...", Sherlock stopped, and, suddenly unsure what to do with her hand, cupped Gem's groin with it, which was certainly still better than depriving it of all touch, but, well...

"No, you clearly know what you're doing there. You just don't have the muscles. Come on, untie me, I'll help you the rest of the way."

"Worried I'll get cramps? How caring of you. Wasn't there a time when you wanted to kill me?"

Gem was relieved that she hadn't actually managed to dent that giant ego into being self-conscious, now that she hadn't even been trying. There had been a moment there... "Cramps might happen, actually. Let me help?"

Sherlock smiled at her. "I'll just have to use some other muscles."

Gem _screamed_ when she pushed two fingers into her.

"Okay?", Sherlock asked.

"V... very." Gem pushed down on her fingers for emphasis. And because she needed to.

"Good." Sherlock planted a kiss between her breasts while she drew her fingers out entirely. And another, lower, while she pushed them back into her. By the time she reached her abdomen, Gem had finally lost her struggle to keep looking at Sherlock to the need to press her head back into the mattress.

" _Please_ ", she whimpered. She didn't know what she was asking for herself, but Sherlock placed a last kiss just below her navel and the next place where she felt her lips was high on her inner thigh, from where they moved towards her fingers. The first lick she gave her started there, and when it reached her clitoris, she bucked upwards with an involuntary loud moan.

"Shh. Patience", Sherlock said and held her hips down while she began licking and fingerfucking her in earnest.

It turned out she didn't need that much patience from there on. What seemed to be way too little time between Sherlock's tongue and her fingers passed before she came, straining against her restraints and Sherlock's hold, trembling, making noises that Sherlock would much later admit "made me wish I'd gagged you, even though I enjoyed having you around for a talk earlier", clamping hard around her fingers.

When only a few muscles in her legs were still twitching with the aftershock, Sherlock looked up and asked "Was that it?"

"That was it.", Gem said, looked up to see Sherlock Holmes between her legs, chin glistening with her moistness, let her head fall back on the bed, smiling, and just breathed for a while.

"I need something to drink", Sherlock stated. She wiped her sticky fingers on Gem's inner thigh and her mouth on the back of her hand before she stood up and walked out of the room.

Gem turned onto her side and watched her leave. That woman was a miracle if ever she had seen one...

When Sherlock took her time returning, Gem shuffled closer to the headboard and inspected the knot that held her on it. She could actually reach it without too many acrobatics, pulled at it with one hand and her teeth, and eventually got it open. The one that held her wrists together was more frustrating to get at with her mouth, even though she could now sit up relatively comfortably. She worked patiently at it until she heard water running in the bathroom. Then she rushed it; she had no desire to have Sherlock see her gnaw on a piece of fabric with her arms nearly dislocated, the successfully finished escape job suited the desired impression much better – there. That hadn't been so hard, had it?

When the sash fell off it revealed that Sherlock had left bruises like violet wristbands where her fingers had pressed into her skin. Gem was impressed in spite of herself. Had her grip really been that hard? Must have been.

And where _was_ that woman when she needed her? It was chilly in here like this, and no one to steal body heat from. Washing her off of her, that's where she was, _of course._ She sighed and wrapped herself in Sherlock's blanket, leaning against the wall and hugging her knees, eyes closed until Sherlock entered the room through the bathroom door carrying a half-empty glass of water.

"Long time no see", Gem stated.

"I missed you too." Sherlock placed the glass on the nightstand and dropped down on the bed next to her, an arm around her shoulders, blanket and all.

"Liar", Gem mumbled into her collarbone, snuggling close, and then, much quieter, looking up to her: "You're sure you don't want me to return the favour?"

"Certainly not today, yes", Sherlock said absent-mindedly. "You sound very... Irish."

As loath as she usually was to let her have the last word, Gem said nothing in return. What would she have said, "that's because I am, you English brat"? But she knew what she meant, of course. And she had come here to talk, and she wasn't done talking, not by far, but Sherlock would grow bored of the silence and say something eventually, and until then... well, Gem was comfortable where she was.


End file.
